


The Gentleman & The Inventor

by berryblue_girl



Series: The Gentleman & The Inventor [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anachronistic, F/M, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berryblue_girl/pseuds/berryblue_girl
Summary: "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a keen mind must be a funny girl.  Add to that the fact that she possessed a rather unattractive independent streak and had a father with nothing to speak of in terms of wealth or title, and Belle Durant was the ideal topic for many afternoon tea time conversations."A Beauty and the Beast story loosely inspired by Pride and Prejudice





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As said in the summary, this story is _loosely_ inspired by Pride and Prejudice. I adore the story far too much just to do a direct retelling. So if that's what you're looking for here, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I do hope you'll still have a look-see as I am pleased as punch with how this first chapter has come together! I adore both of these stories and am really excited to put my own spin on them!
> 
> Just a couple notes: Madame de Garderobe and Cadenza are the Fletchers here and Plumette is Prudence, their daughter. I wanted to strive for realism where I could, so that I can break some rules in regards to the time period later on. As for Cogsworth, I used the actor Oliver Platt for my mental image (if you're interested) as I wasn't totally impressed with Ian McKellan's portrayal in the live action version.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a keen mind must be a funny girl. Add to that the fact that she possessed a rather unattractive independent streak and had a father with nothing to speak of in terms of wealth or title, and Belle Durant was the ideal topic for many afternoon tea time conversations. The only thing to recommend her to polite society was her connection to the wealthiest family in the county, the Fletchers. When Belle was twelve years old, Lady Fletcher heard of her father Maurice’s reputation in the village as an artist and commissioned him to paint a portrait of her sixteen year old daughter Prudence, who was about to come out into society. While her father painted, Belle endeared herself to the family, especially Prudence. The two girls became fast friends, and after that, Belle was a frequent fixture at Rosemount Park. When they heard that Maurice struggled to find books to keep up with Belle’s appetite for learning, Sir Anthony and Lady Fletcher opened their library to the father and daughter so that Maurice could continue her education, which fostered her creative and inventive spirit. Prudence, to her credit, never became jealous of the affection her parents bestowed upon her friend; like them, she saw that Belle was special and undeserving of the scrutiny to which she often found herself subjected.

Belle rode up the drive to Rosemount Park with her horse Philippe and cart, actually eager to indulge in some gossip with Lady Fletcher and Prudence. The village had been buzzing with the news that Devereux Place had been let at last. Belle had been unable to find out to whom, but as Devereux Place was only three miles from Rosemount Park, she knew Lady Fletcher would know. She directed her horse to the servants’ entrance and was greeted by the housekeeper, Mrs. Green. She gave the older woman her usual wave before motioning to the back of her cart. When she was seventeen, Belle invented a device that eliminated the need to wash clothes and other materials by hand. She had wanted a way to contribute to the household income so that the burden didn’t fall solely on her father. She had slowly built her clientele and improved her designs over the past four years to the point that she had had to hire two helpers, Agathe and Stanley, to keep up with the workload.

As Belle haul the four baskets’ worth of washing to the end of the cart, she heard Mrs. Green fussing, “I do wish you would let the boys do all that. It’s not good for a girl like yourself to be doing so much heavy lifting.”

“I’m only moving them to the end, Mrs. Green,” Belle teased, leaping down from her cart, “and besides, I’ve read that exercise is good for the body.”

Mrs. Green only shook her head in her usual disapproving way before saying, “The Lady and Miss Prudence are having tea with the solicitor's wife. There’s a basin in my parlour if you wish to freshen up.”

Belle nodded and walked to the front of her cart again as three boys passed her. She grabbed her satchel from its spot on the bench and headed inside. Once inside Mrs. Green’s parlour, Belle stood in front of the small mirror, dampened the ends of her fingers, and tried to smooth down the little flyaways of golden brown hair that the ride had loosened. The solicitor’s wife Mrs. Morton was a truly odious woman. Whenever Belle spent any period of time in the older woman’s presence, she felt as though she were swimming in a pond filled with sewing needles, every word that came out of her mouth pricking Belle to her very core. Removing her apron, she tucked it into her satchel before wetting a small bit of cloth and wiping away the dust from the road. She wouldn’t give Mrs. Morton any ammunition if she could help it.

She passed through the kitchen on her way upstairs, receiving waves and greetings from the younger girls but only polite smiles from the older women. Belle could only sigh, having grown used to this sort of reaction. Thankfully the maid that was helping serve tea to the ladies was friendly and escorted her upstairs. As they entered the main floor of the house, Belle smoothed her hands down the front of her blue dress. She paused outside the parlour door as the maid entered, saying, “Ms. Durant, milady.”

Belle entered the room to Lady Fletcher and Prudence’s twin smiling expressions and Mrs. Morton’s usual dour one. Lady Fletcher wore a soft butter yellow dress that seemed to make her dark skin glow while Prudence wore a dress of French lilac. The designs of each dress were simple in comparison to their guest but still seemed finer. Mrs. Morton wore a vertically striped dress that was the color of dirty dish water. The collar of the dress blossomed around her neck with lace accents that made them look like cobwebs in a certain light. Belle stopped to curtsy before saying, “I’ve delivered your laundry, my lady, and used that special lavender soap you requested.”

“Oh, you are an angel!” Lady Fletcher gushed, motioning for Belle to sit down next to Prudence. Turning to Mrs. Morton, she continued, “Belle humors me with all my special requests. Are you sure she can’t tempt you with any of her services?”

Mrs. Morton straightened up in her chair and shook her head, saying with a stiff smile, “That is why I have a housekeeper, Lady Fletcher. I see no sense in depriving her of work simply because Ms. Durant here won’t find a husband to support her financially.”

Belle felt her cheeks and ears burn, and Prudence reached over and squeezed her wrist gently. Licking her lips, Belle said in an even tone, “If only everyone were as lucky as you, Mrs. Morton, to have such an able-bodied housekeeper. Unfortunately, not everyone in the village is, and those are the ones to whom I offer my services.”

“Lady Fletcher being the exception,” Mrs. Morton insisted with a chortle. “I dare say she employs several able-bodied maids capable of performing the same tasks as you.”

Prudence spoke this time, Belle quickly losing her patience and temper. She clenched her jaw tight as Prudence said, “You know how particular Mama can be, Mrs. Morton. Belle is more willing to constantly change her routine more readily than Mrs. Green and her girls.”

“I should think that as Lady Fletcher is their employer, they would be willing, nay obligated, to alter their routine to suit her needs,” Mrs. Morton said before reaching for her tea.

Lady Fletcher seized that momentary pause, saying a little too brightly, “Prudence, I see that Belle has her satchel with her! Perhaps you’d like to take her to the library?”

Both girls nodded and leapt up from the couch, Belle curtsying hastily once more before following Prudence out of the room. They waited until they were inside the library before Belle let out a groan of frustration and leaned against the door, saying, “Your mother is a saint! I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted!”

Prudence hunkered over as she giggled. After a moment, she straightened up and reached out to grasp Belle’s shoulder, gasping, “I am...so sorry, Belle. That woman’s hatred of you seems unending!”

“No one can quite hold a grudge like Mrs. Morton,” Belle grumbled, giving her friend a half-hearted smile. Prudence’s face fell and her giggling ceased as Belle pushed off the door and walked to the large table in the center of the room. When she was sixteen, Belle received a proposal from Thomas, Mrs. Morton’s son. Belle turned him down, and while Thomas took it rather well and eventually married one of the baker’s three daughters, Mrs. Morton took it as a grievous insult. She tried to blacken Belle’s name in the village, calling her proud and possessed with ideals far above her station in life. Belle asked Lady Fletcher to intervene, as she had almost completed work on her laundering device and the village was her main source of potential income. Lady Fletcher stepped up and hosted Thomas’s wedding to Angelica at Rosemount Park. The event was all anyone in the village talked about, before or after, and his previous proposal to Belle was all but forgotten. Mrs. Morton stopped denigrating Belle in the village, contenting herself with pointed comments whenever they interacted.

As Belle unloaded the books she had borrowed, Prudence came up alongside her, saying, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. I just got swept up with how ridiculous her behavior can be at times.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Belle insisted, reaching out to squeeze her friend’s hand. “I think the reason she still holds a grudge so fiercely is that her daughter-in-law is lacking any substance whatsoever. I’ve heard her say on several occasions how she can’t abide useless people, and Angelica is the very definition of the phrase.”

Prudence’s eyes widen and she choked back a laugh. “I swear, Belle! That sharp tongue of yours is going to get you in trouble one day! But enough about Mrs. Morton. Let’s talk about Devereux Place!”

Belle turned to face her friend, asking excitedly, “Who’s the new occupant? I must have heard half a dozen theories as I dropped off loads today!”

“It’s Louis D’Meir!”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up. “The Louis D’Meir? The Mr. D’Meir that you met last season while in London and have talked of nothing else since then? The Mr. D’Meir who is more handsome than Adonis himself? That gentleman?”

“The very same!” Prudence giggled, her lovely caramel cheeks flushing with excitement. “As you know, he’s been exchanging letters with my father since we returned home from-”

“How could I forget?” Belle teased. “You’ve spoken about their correspondence every time we meet.”

“As I was saying,” Prudence said, smacking Belle’s arm playfully, “he and Papa have been exchanging letters, and in his most recent correspondence, he’d been talking of how he’s grown weary of London, how it is so crowded and noisy, and that there is no good sport to be had.”

Prudence followed Belle around the library as she replaced the books she had borrowed and searched for new ones, continuing her story. Knowing his daughter’s enthusiasm for Mr. D’Meir, he let Prudence dictate a response to show Devereux Place in the best light possible: its ample grounds and surrounding forests perfect for hunting, the village nearby for when he desired company and other diversions, and of course, its relative proximity to Rosemount Park. Mr. D’Meir was effervescent in his reply, saying that it was the solution to all of his woes, that he would begin making arrangements immediately, and that he greatly looked forward to delighting in his daughter’s charm, wit, and beauty once again.

“He even promised to bring a single friend or two to liven things up a bit,” Prudence finished. Belle looked away from the book she was considered to see the scheming look in her friend’s eyes.

“Oh, Prudence,” she bemoaned, “please tell me you didn’t mention me!”

Prudence ran her fingers along the spines of the books. “I may have had Papa mention a dear friend of the family that we wanted to see happy and in love as she deserved.”

Belle rolled her eyes and walked away. She heard Prudence stomp her foot lightly, insisting, “It’s true! What’s the point of reading all those great romances if you never let yourself live them? I know you value your independence, but who says you can’t have that and love as well?”

The two girls fell into an awkward silence and after a while, Belle sighed and paused in her search. She knew Prudence meant well and that she was right with her questions. Pushing the book she had been examining back on the shelf, she walked back to her friend, who had sat down on one of the chairs that decorated the room. Belle sat down on the footrest in front of Prudence and said, “I’m sorry. I was just being stubborn. Still friends?”

She saw a smile tug at the corner of Prudence’s lips, who crossed her arms over her chest and sniffed, “Perhaps.”

Grinning at her friend’s silliness, Belle heaved a great sigh and asked, “What if I said I would let you dress me up in whatever outfit you wish for the dance I’m certain your parents are planning to welcome Mr. D’Meir into the neighborhood. Then would I be forgiven?”

Prudence’s face broke out into an excited grin, and she reached forward to grasp Belle’s hands. “Really? Because I have this dark blue dress I received just a few days ago that I promise you’re going to love!”

The clock chimed, denoting the lateness of the hour, so Belle made quick work of making her next selection of books to take home. The two girls met Sir Anthony outside the library, who wore a wide brimmed hat and a tan flapping jacket. Prudence kissed her father’s cheek and asked, “Did you have a fruitful afternoon fishing?”

Sir Anthony took off his hat and jacket, handing them to a footman, and said, “Why yes, I did! Caught several large carps which I instructed Mrs. Reynolds to cook for us this evening. Mr. Morton didn’t have much luck, so I told him he and his wife were more than welcome to share in my spoils.”

“How gracious of you,” Prudence replied, saying a soft goodbye to Belle before rejoining her mother and Mrs. Morton in the parlour.

Sir Anthony turned his attention to Belle, gesturing to the books in her hands and asking, “So Ms. Durant, who are you traveling with this week?”

“A pair of Williams, sir,” Belle replied, holding out her selections for him to inspect.

He studied the spines, expressing his love for Blake before exclaiming, “Much Ado About Nothing again, my dear? With as many times as you’ve read it, I would have thought you’d have had it memorized by now.”

“It’s my favorite!” Belle gushed, taking back the books and tucking them into her satchel. “The relationship of Benedick and Beatrice... they loathe each other in the beginning of the play before realizing just how much they have in common and in the end, admit to themselves and each other that they’re in love! It’s magic!”

Sir Anthony smiled. “Well, if you truly enjoy it that much, consider yours. No need to return it.”

Belle thanked him over and over again before heading back downstairs to her cart. Mrs. Green gave her the payment for the laundering in the form of a giant basket, full of one wheel of cheese, three loaves of different breads, potatoes, carrots, and two roasted chickens. Belle set it and her satchel in the cart before clicking her tongue and steering her horse the way home. The tiny cottage she and her father called home was an even distance from both the village and Rosemount Park. Her father had bought it from Sir Anthony when she was just a babe and he had returned to England from France after losing her mother in childbirth. When he couldn’t make a living off his art, he would fall back on his second passion of tinkering and repair various things in the village. Until their friendship with the Fletchers, it had always been just the two of them, her father preferring not to remarry. When Belle’s laundering venture began to take off, he started to going into town less and less, with Belle simply bringing him the village’s assorted collection of broken watches, clocks, and the like. He would attend social functions for Belle’s sake, but he had gained a reputation similar to his daughter’s of being odd and reclusive.

Belle arrived at the cottage just as the sun had begun to sink into the horizon. Agathe come out to greet her, wiping her hands on her roughspun apron. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked up at Belle and said, “Didn’t think we’d see you before nightfall, my dear.”

Belle climbed down and hugged her, saying, “The gossip was good but not good enough for me to forget about home. Where’s Stanley? We’ll need help unloading all this if we’re to eat dinner at a decent hour.”

The man in question came from inside the house. “Asking after me, mam?”

Belle laughed and climbed back into the cart, handing them baskets full of traded goods for the laundering services. Those that could afford it paid in coin, but Belle had determined long ago not to turn away food and the like when it was offered. Both Agathe and Stanley lived at the cottage, Agathe sharing a room with Belle and Stanley sleeping in a cozy crawl space in the barn he organized for himself to better look after the horses and laundering devices. Agathe had left the service of a noble house a few towns over when the lord’s son tried to force himself on her. Having no family to speak of and no house willing to hire her, she become a beggar. When she had wandered into the village, Belle took her home that day and Maurice told her to stay as long as she needed. Agathe didn’t speak beyond perfunctory responses to questions, and neither Maurice or Belle pushed her to, so for the first week after being taken in, she simply slept and ate. Once she had built up her strength, she finally told Maurice and Belle her story. After hearing the woman’s sad tale, her father offered to speak on her behalf to the Fletchers, whom he assured her would be happy to provide her with employment without the threat of assault. Agathe thanked him but stated that she didn’t want to be confined to another house again. Belle then offered her a job working for her laundering service. After letting Agathe observe her for a day, the woman eagerly accepted and had been with them ever since.

Stanley came on shortly after Agathe, as a favor to his mother, Mrs. Dwiggins. He came from a farm and was the oldest of ten children. But he had suffered an accident as a child and ended up with a lame arm. His father was a hard man who had no use for a son he saw as lesser, but Stanley grew up with a thirst to prove himself useful. When Mrs. Dwiggins heard through a friend that Belle had been making inquiries about help with her business, the older woman wrote her a letter immediately. Belle traveled the Dwiggins family farm for tea and listened to the mother’s impassioned plea for her son. After meeting with Stanley and explaining the work that would be involved, he accepted the job and packed up his meager belongings, heading back to the cottage with Belle that very same day. He was a delight to be around and worked just as hard as Belle and Agathe, waking up before everyone else to ready the barn for that day’s work. He rode home every Sunday to visit his family and gave his mother a portion of his earnings to help out the large family.

Belle held up the basket from Rosemount Park and announced, “Lady Fletcher gave us two roasted chickens. Between everything in this basket and the strawberry tart Mrs. Hamilton gave us, we shall eat like kings and queens tonight!”

“I love roasted chicken!” Stanley cheered, emerging again from the cottage after taking in a final load. “My mum used to make it every year for my birthday.”

Agathe took the basket from Belle, adding, “The carcesses will be an excellent base for a soup stock as well. I think we might still have some onions in the garden.”

She headed inside while Belle and Stanley led the cart to the barn. Stanley had already put away the equipment and horses for the day and while he unloaded the washing for the next day, Belle unhitched Philippe, led him into his stall, and brushed his coat. He was her favorite of all the horses, as she had raised him from a tiny colt. Once she finished, she fished out the carrot she had tucked away and fed it to him. She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Good night, my friend.

Inside the cottage, Agathe was busy preparing that evening’s dinner while Belle’s father was looking over the post delivered earlier that day. As he spent the majority of the day in his small studio, he preferred to read letters and the paper in the evenings. Belle moved to his side, kissing his scruffy cheek and sitting down at the table next to him. He gave her his usual distracted smile, asking, “How are things at Rosemount? I’m to understand there was a big to-do in the village about a beau of Prudence’s coming to stay at Devereux.”

Belle’s jaw dropped. “How did you find out? I didn’t learn all the details until I spoke with Prudence directly!”

Her father tapped the end of her nose playfully. “Your old papa still has some tricks up his sleeve, my dear. Now...tell me all about your day; don’t leave out a second.”

Dinner was simple, as were most evenings in their little cottage. Afterward, Belle helped Agathe clean up, packed a basket of apples, some cheese, a jar of blackberry preserves, and a loaf of bread for Stanley to keep in the barn for his breakfast, and had help from her father organizing the ledger for the laundering business. They both agreed she and Stanley would travel to Devereux Place in the morning to offer their services to its new lord. Her father promised to help Agathe keep up with the washing to be done, as he was almost finished with his latest commission from London. Stanley bid them all a good night and took himself and his basket to the barn. Agathe sat in her little rocking chair by the fire with her basket of mending, another service Belle offered. Belle and her father took turns reading things aloud, to articles from that day’s paper to scenes from Much Ado. When Belle let out a yawn in the middle of a line by Beatrice, her father suggested they all retire for the evening. Scrubbing the back of her neck, Belle followed Agathe to their room, each separating into her individual corner. Agathe lit a candle to illuminate the small space while each of them undressed. Belle let down her hair and massaged her scalp with the tips of her fingers. She ran a brush through the loose curls before climbing into bed. The chill of her sheets caused her to shiver, and she curled up onto her side.

“Good night, Agathe,” Belle whispered and Agathe replied back just as softly before blowing out the candle.

 

* * *

 

Adam Lawrence woke with a groan and sat up in the unfamiliar bed, rubbing his aching neck. The opened book lying in his lap told him that he had fallen asleep reading again. Leaning to one side, he tugged on the thick cord that dangled to one side of his headboard. He climbed out of bed, stretching his arms over his head, and walked to one of the windows. He yanked open the curtains and let in the pale light of morning. Louis had been charmed by the roaming hills and trees of the countryside, and Adam could concede there was a quaint beauty to it. He preferred the surroundings of his own estate Villeneuve, but as those close to him often told him, he could not stay there all of the time. Adam had met the Frenchman five years ago only a year after his father had passed away. He had been struggling to restructure Villeneuve after years of mismanagement from himself and his father when Louis sauntered into their lives. Philippa adored Louis and his devil-may-care attitude, and Adam enjoyed having a friend who understood his reclusive tendencies.

There was a knock at his bedroom door and a footman whose name Adam couldn’t remember entered. “Good morning, sir. How may I assist you? I’m afraid breakfast isn’t-”

“That’s fine,” Adam said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just send my valet up with some hot coffee, no cream or sugar, and a basin of cold water.”

The footman nodded before leaving the room again. He returned to his bed and picked up the book he had been reading last night. Philippa had given it to him before she left to go stay with their grandmother, Violet. She had talked of little else for weeks after reading it and claimed the main character Jane had replaced any previous literary heroines in her eyes. Philippa made him promise that he would read it in exchange for her agreeing to go visit their grandmother in London while he traveled with Louis.

“I thought you liked visiting Granny in London?” Adam asked over dinner the evening before she was to depart.

Philippa nodded, swallowing her mouthful of soup before saying, “I do, but I haven’t seen Louis in ages and I love traveling with both of you.”

“I just wouldn’t want you to be bored,” Adam reasoned. “I don’t know that there will be any ladies in our party.”

“Yes because you will be going to the only village in England without any.”

Dinner was rather awkward after that. Later that evening, Philippa came and apologized, saying that she knew that he hadn’t been trying to exclude her like before, giving him her copy of Jane Eyre. He apologized as well and promised that her fears were unfounded and that their grandmother truly had been asking for Philippa’s company. He told her that he would keep her well informed of Louis’s courtship of the lady that currently had his affections.

Another knock at his door pulled his attention from the book. His valet Beckett entered with a small tray, saying, “Good morning, sir. You’re up early. Didn’t think I’d hear from you for another hour.”

Adam closed the book, tossing it back on his bed, as Beckett set the tray on his night stand, Adam replying, “I did had every intention of rising later, but I fell asleep reading again and my neck was not pleased about it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Beckett replied, pouring him a steaming cup of coffee. Adam took the cup when it was offered as Beckett continued, “I brought up some bread slices and jam as well. Any particular preference on your attire today?”

Beckett picked up the pitcher on the tray and took it to the small washing stand in the corner of the room. As the valet moved about, Adam picked up a slice of bread and, while spreading jam on it, replied, “Something smart, I suppose. I believe we will be calling on the Fletchers today.”

“Have you met the lady in question?”

Adam shook his head. “No, but Mr. D’Meir has spoken of little else in his correspondence so I feel as though I know her already.”

Beckett paused in preparing the washing stand. “Do you think it’s quite serious then?”

“Perhaps,” Adam replied, shrugging and finishing off the last of his bread slice. Licking the corner of his mouth, he stood and joined Beckett at the washing stand. Beckett tucked a towel around his neck as Adam continued, “This wouldn’t be the first time he has traveled for a girl he’s fancied, but something feels different about this one. I suppose I’ll have to reserve further judgement until I have actually met her.”

Picking up the straight razor, Beckett asked, “Are you keeping the beard, sir? I think your lady grandmother might pay me a few pounds if I were to “accidently” rid you of it.”

“No doubt she would!” Adam chuckled. “But either way...yes, I’m keeping it. I’ve grown rather fond of it, so just the usual maintenance, Beckett.”

“Very good, sir.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as the valet worked, with Beckett only speaking to give soft instructions. Adam was a person who appreciated such silences. There are nothing he had less patience for than the idle small talk associated with tea times and luncheons. He preferred conversations that had some sort of meaning or purpose, like the running of Villeneuve and its surrounding properties or a novel that he had read recently. Louis and Philippa were the exact opposite with the ability to expound on almost any subject, from the superficial to the serious. Both of them had developed habits of directing conversations toward topics Adam found easy to discuss. That wasn’t to say that he relied entirely on them -he was a grown man, after all- and anytime he felt at a loss for words entirely, he would retire to a corner or behind a newspaper. Philippa had told him in the past that some ladies found him to be broody and mysterious in such moments while others just said he was being rude and thought himself to be a cut above the company. Adam would frustrate his little sister no end when he replied that sometimes he was, as he found some of their society friends to be gauche and very tedious.

When Beckett finished, he handed Adam a damp cloth to wipe off his face and neck. They went with a dark blue morning jacket that accented his eyes before Beckett ran a comb through Adam’s hair. Completely dressed, Adam retrieved Jane Eyre from its spot on his bed and asked Beckett about the location of the library. Louis had told him in one of his letters that it was supposed to be very impressive, which, Adam replied back, wasn't saying much as a collection of any measurable size would be unusual that far from London. Nevertheless, Adam let himself be convinced as he read between the lines and knew how much his presence met to his friend. He wasn't totally heartless; those days were far behind him.

After instructing Beckett to alert him when breakfast was ready, Adam made his way downstairs to the main floor and took a left. He could hear the faint noises of activity as the staff no doubt prepared the house for its new occupants. After walking down a long hallway, he took another left through a rather ornate-looking door into the library. A squeak told him he was not alone, and he turned toward the noise to see a maid kneeling by the fireplace. Her mouth opened to say something, but Adam cut her off with a wave of his hand, saying, “As you were.”

He sat in a chair in a far corner of the room and opened his book once more, returning to the world of Jane Eyre. He was beginning to understand why Philippa was so enraptured by this story. It was certainly leagues ahead of the other Bell brother’s offering, Wuthering Heights. So lost in the story was he that he didn't hear Beckett enter the room or say his name the first time. He emerged from the mysteries at Thornfield Hall with a start, causing Beckett to say, “I apologize if I startled you, sir, but you asked me to come get you when breakfast was ready.”

Adam nodded and marked his place in the book, standing. “Quite right. Lead the way, Beckett.”

Louis and their other traveling companion Albert Cogsworth were already at the table when Adam entered the room. Louis looked to be carrying on a one-sided conversation with Cogsworth, who was reading the morning paper. The Frenchman was dressed in a powder blue jacket with his mousy brown hair in its usual state of casual disarray. He turned toward Adam and said with his usual bright smile, “Good morning, Adam! How did you sleep last night?”

Cogsworth turned down the top of his paper, glaring at Louis. He had on a much plainer jacket as compared to Louis, a simple light gray which accented the silver streaks in his pitch black hair. His frown accentuated his jowly cheeks, making him look like an annoyed bulldog. “Really, D’Meir? Must you be so familiar this early in the morning?”

“What’s a little familiarity between friends, my dear Cogsworth?” Louis asked with a grin, winking at Adam. “You English stand on ceremony far too often. You should relax, let your hair down!”

While the two of them bickered, Adam stand down at the table and told the butler Jones what he wanted for his breakfast. By the time Jones had walked away, his companions had stopped arguing enough for Adam to say, “I slept fine for the most part, D’Meir. I fell slept while reading so my neck is a bit sore.”

Cogsworth set down his paper and took a bite of eggs, saying after he swallowed, “If it persists, Lawrence, let me know. I have a salve my physician gave me for my joints when they trouble me. Works like a charm! He refilled it for me before I left London when I told him I was visiting the country and would be doing some walking out of doors.”

Adam nodded and thanked Jones when he set a plate of food and a cup of hot coffee in front of him. Taking a sip of his coffee, he replied to Cogsworth, “I think I shall survive, but I'll be sure to keep that in mind should I need it. Any news from Town?”

“None as of yet,” Cogsworth huffed, picking at his breakfast, “although I expect I shall receive a deluge tomorrow morning. With five children and a worrisome wife, I'm never short of news.”

Adam smiled before tucking into his breakfast. Cogsworth talked often as though his family were some great bother, but anyone who spent more than five minutes with the man in the presence of his family could see that he cared a great deal for them. Adam had grown up alongside his children and while the older man -and Adam’s grandmother- had failed thus far at attaching Adam to Abigail, the eldest of Cogsworth’s four daughters, his only son Brandon seemed quite taken with Adam’s sister and Philippa with him. All of the adults involved had decided that, after the trauma of Philippa’s previous failed match, they would let things developed at their own pace and gave the young pair ample opportunities to meet and socialize.

“I'm sure Grandmother and Philippa will call on them soon,” Adam remarked after a pause. “Philippa told me before she left that she was determined to best Amelia in playing the piano forte.”

Cogsworth snorted a laugh. “She faces quite a challenge! Amelia practices day and night. I swear, her mother and I fall asleep and awake to some new composition the girl has acquired.”

“That is excellent!” Louis enthused. “Nothing can more beautifully convey the complexities of life than a well-written piece of music. Lady Fletcher and her husband are quite a talented musical duo! Why, I remember a party where Lady Fletcher sang an aria so mournful, I wept like a child! It was exquisite!”

Cogsworth huffed, picking up his paper and saying, “Upon my word, I don't know what to make of you at times, D’Meir! Crying in public...have you no pride at all?”

“Pride crumbles into dust when faced with such a beautiful performance,” Louis insisted without a hint of embarrassment.

Cogsworth went back to his newspaper, and Louis turned his attention to Adam and began informing him of their plans for the day. It seems they were to meet up with the Fletchers for a tour of the village and the surrounding area before heading back to Rosemount Park for dinner. Then, at the end of the week, there was to be a dance held in the village hall to properly welcome them to the neighborhood. Adam felt a knot of dread building in his stomach. He detested such gatherings, especially when he was a stranger to everyone attending. Granted, he didn’t much care for parties back at Villeneuve, but at least there, he had the advantage of familiar surroundings. His days of recklessly spending his family’s money on endless parties with people he didn’t care for were behind him.

After breakfast, Adam and Louis decided to take a tour of the grounds while Cogsworth elected to stay indoors. He claimed it was for “important letters of business” to be sent to Town, but the younger men knew the letters were actually meant for his family. But before the two men could go outside, the butler came in to inform them that a young lady from the village had asked to speak with Monsieur D’Mier. Cogsworth excused himself to the library and Adam frowned at receiving a visitor so early in the morning. Louis insisted Martin bring the girl in and turned to Adam, saying, “What a welcoming place, wouldn’t you agree?”

Adam simply frowned and gave a noncommittal grunt as Martin brought the visitor into the room. She wore an olive green dress and a white apron with several pockets on it. As she approached them, Adam noted that she carried herself with a self-confidence he’d seen in few other ladies in his acquaintance. Her nose and cheeks were scattered with freckles, and her dark brown eyes held that same confidence as she regarded them. She gave them a little bow, which both men returned, and said, “Good morning to you both. I am Belle Durant, a friend of Miss Prudence Fletcher. I hope I haven’t interrupted your morning.”

“Not at all!” Louis insisted. “I am happy to receive you, Ms. Durant. I am Louis D’Meir, and this is my companion, Mr. Adam Lawrence. How may we assist you?”

The girl glanced at Adam when he was introduced and Adam inclined his head once again. She returned her gaze to Louis, reaching into one of her apron pockets and pulling out a small envelope. She extended it out to him and said, “I was actually hoping to assist you, sir. I run a laundering service for the village, and when Miss Fletcher told me of your arrival, I thought that I would introduce myself and offer you my services.”

Louis took the envelope and gave her a huge grin, saying, “How industrious! I believe Sir Anthony might have mentioned you in one of his letters.”

The girl’s face beamed with affection and pride and she replied, “Sir Anthony is a dear man if he did. He’s been most kind to me and my father. In any case, you’ll find a list of all my services as well as the costs of each. I do both bedding and such and more delicate clothing items.”

While Louis opened the envelope, Adam spoke up, asking, “I’m curious, Ms. Durant. Why are you making this presentation yourself? Wouldn’t your husband be more suitable?”

Her frame stiffened and the smile she had moments before vanished. She clasped both hands in front of her and replied, “I am unmarried, Mr. Lawrence.”

Adam pushed. “Your father then-”

“This business is my own, sir,” the girl said, cutting him off. “My father doesn’t go into the village much, so I started this business to better support us.”

By this time, Louis must have noticed the growing tension in the room and he spoke up, saying, “Forgive my friend, Ms. Durant. We rarely encounter such independent spirits such as yourself in our regular circles in London. But I have read your proposal and am very impressed! You may consider me a new customer. Perhaps with a few loads, we can win over Mr. Lawrence.”

The girl’s posture was still defensive but she looked pleased as she thanked Louis. When she offered to explain her pick-up and delivery schedules, Louis eagerly accepted and sent Martin to fetch the housekeeper, Mrs. Fitz. Adam excused himself, telling Louis that he would be in the library when they finished. He glanced once more at the girl before he left the room, but she was distracted by further explaining her business to his friend. He thought about apologizing for possibly offending her, but given her abruptness and the defensiveness of her reply, he thought better of it and just left. It wasn’t as though he had been making any unreasonable inquiries, he reasoned with himself as he walked down the long hall. Women didn’t just start their own businesses, especially ones who were still young and single. If all a woman did was work, how was she to find a husband who could properly support her? As he entered the library and received a distracted greeting from Cogsworth, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the poor girl. She had said that her father didn’t go into town much, which obviously meant he was feeble in some way. That sense of familial obligation must have been why she remained unmarried and why she held Sir Anthony in such high regard. He must be a welcomed respite from whatever hardships her father offered at home. Adam huffed as he sat down in a chair by the fireplace, thinking dismissively that, whatever the reason behind her actions, there was no excuse for being so rude to a perfect stranger. Whether her father was feeble or a drunkard, she couldn’t expect people not to ask questions about her situation. Putting the funny girl out of his mind, he reopened Jane Eyre and lost himself once again in the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Please leave comments and kudos, as I adore them as much as Belle adores books. If you're a Twitter addict like me, follow me there @ Other_Girl. I may or may not post little previews of what I'm writing from time to time. :) I don't know when I will have the next chapter up, but I will work my hardest to make sure it isn't a long wait! Wouldn't want to torture you guys! Until next time: stay nerdy, my friends!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooo sorry that I took so long to get this chapter out! In addition to working a full time job, I do podcasts and I haven't quite found that perfect balance between working on those and writing. But my beta reader is one persisent lady and helped keep me on track. I promise there won't be as long as a wait for chapter three as there was for this one! I hope y'all enjoy this; Lord knows I had a blast writing it! Thank you for all the AMAZING feedback I received for chapter one! I hope chapter two will live up to your expectations! ENJOY!

Stanley shivered as he nibbled on a piece of cold chicken from last night’s dinner before picking up the book of William Blake poetry again, glancing at the front door of Devereux Park for signs of activity.  The chilly wind blew fluffy gray clouds across the sun, which was higher in the sky now.  Some time had passed since Belle had disappeared inside.  A longer meeting meant that negotiations had gone well, but that was usually the case when Belle was involved.  She could be very determined when she wanted something.  Stanley admired her ability to walk into any situation with complete confidence. Stanley had his areas where he felt comfortable standing his ground, but when it came to the business, he and Agathe had agreed long ago that Belle should be the voice for the business.  Just as he adjusted his woolen cap over his ears, the door to the estate squeaked open and Belle walked outside with her head held high and a smile on her face.  She nodded to the footman that held the front door open for her, descending the stairs and practically skipping to the cart.  Stanley tucked his book into his sling and asked, “So I assume it went well?”

“Very!” Belle replied happily.  She climbed up on the cart and took a moment to adjust her thick shawl around her shoulders and tug her mittens into place.  She picked up the reins, giving them a snap and clicking her tongue.  Philippe jolted into action and Belle continued, “He told me to pick up the first load this Friday.”

Stanley grinned and sat up straighter on the bench.  As they bounced along the road back to the village, he asked, “So what was he like?  This Mr. D’Meir...do you think he’s good enough for Miss Prudence?”

“It’s hard to say,” Belle replied, her breath coming out in little puffs.  “From our meeting, he seems to be a very effervescent man.  I can see why Prudence is drawn to him.”

Stanley frowned at the unfamiliar word.  “What’s that mean? Effer-effervescent?”

“It means that he’s lively, very enthusiastic.  So...what do you think of William Blake so far?”

They spent the remainder of the trip back to the village discussing the book of poetry.  Stanley hadn’t had much in the way of schooling before coming to live with the Durants.  His father hadn’t seen the merit of an education, as they were the children of a farmer.  In his father’s eyes, the only knowledge worth having was how to properly manage a farm.  His mother had a bit of learning, reading passages from the Bible to the children at bedtime and able to write simple worded letters, but when pushed, her shortcomings came to the surface.  When he moved in with the Durants, he was amazed to see all three members of the household settling down in the evenings by the fire to read.  Maurice and Agathe would take turns reading the newspaper while Belle would share favorite passages from the books she borrowed from Rosemount Place.  At first, he sat to the side and listened or would excuse himself for the evening when it looked as though Belle or Maurice would ask him to take a turn.  But eventually Belle confronted him about his silence in the evenings, and he was forced to reveal his difficulties with reading and writing.  To his immense relief, Belle didn’t mock him and instead offered to teach him.  Whenever she was too busy, Maurice would pick up where she left off and that generosity gained the father and his daughter Stanley’s unending gratitude.

As the cart rolled into the village, Stanley grabbed the ledger from under the bench and opened it.  Biting the inside of his cheek as he made a note for Devereux Park, he read aloud, “We’ve got four laundering deliveries, two pick-ups, and a clock repair to return to Mr. Morton at his office.”

“I’ll take care of the clock,” she sighed, as though that were the last thing in the world she wanted to do.  She motioned for the ledger, which Stanley handed to her.  As he finished the last bits of chicken he had brought with him, Belle ran her finger down the page and explained, “Stop by the Farleys and the Moores first.  Both have family arriving today, and we don’t want the housekeepers to be without fresh linens.  I’ll use the push cart and collect the two pick-ups.”

The pair hopped down from the cart and walked to the back.  Stanley helped her pull the aforementioned cart from the back without Belle fussing at him.  That was another thing he liked about Belle: she didn’t pity him.  When he said that he could handle something, she believed him.  His mother, God love her, had had that tendency of worrying and insisting he was going to hurt himself.  The only times Belle would step in was if he looked to be pushing himself too far, and even then, she would just put her foot down and tell him that being stubborn and hurting himself wasn’t going to get things done any faster.  Belle pulled the case that held Mr. Morton’s clock out as well and set it down in her little cart.  Picking it up by the handles, she told Stanley, “You can pick me up at the Andrews house in about two hours.  My other deliveries won’t take as long, but with the weather being so nippy, Mrs. Andrews will insist I stay for luncheon.  Be sure to do the same.”

He nodded and she set off toward the solicitor's office.  He gritted his teeth when he saw a couple of older women gesture to Belle and laugh in what he was sure they believed to be a subtle way.  Moving back to the head of the cart and yanking himself back onto bench, he grabbed the reins and snapped them.  The cart jerked forward and Stanley navigated toward the streets to his first stop.  It frustrated him that some in the village saw Belle’s independence and keen mind as points of mockery instead of admiration.  It was true; Stanley thought it strange when he first met Belle that she was still unmarried when, with her looks, she could have had any man in the village that she chose.  But once he got to know her, he saw the aspirations she had that lay beyond the life of a simple housewife.  “ _For goodness sake,_ ” she ranted one night after a particularly difficult day, “ _the leader of our country began her reign when she was only 18!  Why, in this village, is a woman running a business such a foreign concept?_ ”

The Farley house came into view, and Stanley pulled a lever that caused the cart to stop.  During the previous summer, Belle had worked with her father on a braking system to make it easier for Stanley to stop the cart.  It had required some special orders from London, but in the end, everyone had been pleased with the result.  It even resulted in some business when other men in the village asked for a similar set up.  Stanley climbed into the back of the cart, checking the tags and picking up the one marked Farley.  He emerged and climbed down from the cart without a fuss.  He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and made his made to the servants’ entrance of the house.  Knocking on the door with the toe of his boot, he waited for a moment before a short rotund woman answered the door.  Her cheeks were always a brilliant shade of pink or red, the latter which matched her hair tucked beneath a white cap.

“Hello, Mrs. Thomas,” Stanley greeted with an incline of his head.  “I’ve the washing for you.”

“Bless you, dear boy!” Mrs. Thomas replied, gesturing for him to enter.  He followed her and set the bag down where she bid him.  After sorting out the payment, she disappeared for a moment before reappearing with a blue silk sash.  It had a gash that almost split one end in two.

“I have fingers like sausages,” Mrs. Thomas explained fretfully, holding out the item.  “Do you think Agathe or Belle could mend this?  The mistress said there’s a pretty penny in it if they can!  It was her late mother’s, so she can’t bear to throw it out.”

Stanley nodded eagerly.  “Agathe can mend just about anything.  Nothing is past hope for her.  Can you wrap it up in something?”

After Mrs. Thomas wrapped up the sash yesterday’s newspaper and secured the bundle with a bit of twine, she insisted on him sitting down for a bit of tea.  He accepted for any excuse to stay out of the cold for a while longer.  He waited in her tiny parlor while Mrs. Thomas retrieved the butler, Mr. Grey.  The pair appeared moments later and Stanley warmed himself with hot tea and ginger biscuits.  They gossiped about Mr. D’Meir and the upcoming dinner.  Stanley made Mrs. Thomas blush scarlet when he asked if she’d honor him with a dance.  She smiled and blustered about him being foolish.  Eventually duty called and Stanley left the house with the sewing bundle and a half dozen more ginger biscuits tucked into his sling that the woman insisted he take.  Belle and Agathe often teased him that he had a face that made young girls shiver and mothers coo.  Such an assessment made Stanley blush and quickly search for something to do.  Pulling himself back on the cart, he lifted the seat of the bench, which was lined for cushions for some of the more delicate items, and set the bundle inside.  He then shut the compartment and sat down.  Grabbing the ledger from inside the cart, he opened it and made a note of payment before adding the sash to the list of work.  As he looked up, a couple of lads rode by on horseback.  Stanley felt his pulse quicken, and he rubbed the apple against his shirt.  The fruit gleamed in the sunlight, and he worried that his cheeks would be the same shade as the skin.  He tried his hardest not to focus on _those_  thoughts, for they were unnatural.  They came more frequently now that Stanley went to the village on a regular basis, and he didn’t know how to make them stop.  He took a deep breath before he disengaged the brake and snapped the reins.  He kept his eyes fixed on the road and his mind firmly on the next house in the ledger.

 

* * *

 

Louis was enchanted.  Prudence hadn’t changed a bit since their flirtatious season in London.  She was just as clever and beautiful as he remembered, perhaps even more so.  They were having tea in the parlor under the watchful eye of her mother, while Adam and Cogsworth walked around the pond with Sir Anthony.  She wore a cream-colored dress with tiny blue flowers embedded in her curls.  He thought the floral touches made her look like a fairy princess, which made her smile and blush when he told her so.  The women sat on a couch while Louis took a chair to the left of them.  While the others did their walk, Louis had regaled the ladies with some of the latest gossip from London, but when he mentioned that her friend Ms. Durant had paid him a visit earlier that morning, Prudence’s eyes lit up.  She set down her delicate tea cup and asked, “Isn’t she just wonderful?  She is my dearest friend!”

“I was very impressed with her presentation,” Louis replied with a smile.  Setting down his own cup, he continued, gesturing out to the parlor door, “My friend Mr. Lawrence was a bit perplexed by it and might have vexed her with his questions.”

Both ladies winced, the younger saying, “I hope she didn’t say anything too...firm.  She’s dealt with some prejudices in the village that have made her a bit defensive.”

Lady Fletcher chimed in, adding, “That’s why we’ve taken her and her father under our wing, apart from them being excellent company.  It can be difficult for those considered “outsiders” to ingratiate themselves into a new community.”

Louis nodded his head and placed a hand over his heart.  “I understand completely, Lady Fletcher.  My family struggled to integrate into the London set after we left France during the Wars.  Had it not been for Sir Cogsworth making introductions on our behalf, we might have had to retreat to an estate in the country.”

“Oh dear,” Prudence remarked with a mock frown, “does that mean you don’t enjoy country living, Mr. D’Meir?  I myself enjoy retreating back to the quiet comforts of the country after the hustle and bustle of London.”

Louis grinned.  Hoping he didn’t offend either lady, he reached across the space between them and picked up Prudence’s hand, running his thumb over her knuckles.  He saw a faint flush in her cheeks but her frown remained in place.  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, saying afterward, “I find I am being converted to the charms of the country, Miss Prudence.”

He maintained eye contact with her until her mother cleared her throat.  Prudence pulled her hand away and reclaimed her tea cup.  Louis did the same but when he glanced over at Prudence, she smiled at him before taking a sip of her tea.  Lady Fletcher took control of the conversation at that moment, asking after Louis’s parents.  As he was finishing up a story involving his mother’s pug and a chocolate cake, Sir Anthony, Cogsworth, and Adam entered the parlor.  Prudence had her face buried in a napkin to muffle her giggles while Lady Fletcher had her head thrown back in laughter.  Adam gave Louis a knowing look and asked, “Let me guess: Chapeau’s midnight snack?”

Louis could only shrug.  “It never ceases to entertain!”

“I’m sure that will be a great comfort,” Cogsworth said, sitting down in another chair next to Louis, “to your mother.”

Sir Anthony sat down between his wife and daughter and Adam the remaining chair near Lady Fletcher, the latter saying, “Don’t worry, Cogsworth.  Lady D’Meir is all too happy to share her story.  My grandmother says that it is a teatime favorite.”

While Cogsworth harumphed about how that was “an altogether different situation,” the ladies recovered from their fits of laughter.  Wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye, Prudence said breathlessly, “I dare say I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.  I feel light-headed, don’t you, Mama?”

“You’re like a bolt of lightning to our sleepy little village, Mr. D’Meir,” Lady Fletcher said, fanning herself.  Turning her attention to her husband, she asked, “How did you find the pond, my dear?”

“Unchanged,” Sir Anthony said, leaning back in his seat.  “Mr. Cogsworth and I only wish it were warmer, so that we might do a bit of fishing.”

The butler, Mr. Arnold, came around to freshen their cups of tea.  As he did, Prudence said, “Mr. Lawrence, I must say I’m disappointed that you didn’t bring your sister.  While you were occupied with my father, Mr. D’Meir entertained myself and Mama with stories from Town and he had nothing but high praise for her.”

Louis picked up his tea and took a sip, if only to hide his smile.  Despite not having known her very long, he could tell she was up to something.  Adam gave Louis a warm smile before turning his attention back to Prudence, saying, “I apologize for the disappointment, Miss Prudence.  Unfortunately, my grandmother asked for her company in Town, and with my lady mother still in France, I couldn’t very well say no to her request.  Perhaps I’ll send for her if this visit proves to be an extended one.”

Louis piped up at that moment.  “You must, Lawrence!  I think Philippa will be as enamoured with the area as I am.”

“Old friend,” Adam replied with a smirk, “it doesn’t take much to enamour you or my sister.”

“Are you saying we don’t have much to offer in the way of conversation or society, Mr. Lawrence?” Prudence asked and Louis began to think that perhaps he should have kept Adam’s encounter with Ms. Durant a secret.  It seemed to have set her mind against his friend.  He only hoped that Adam would acquit himself well against her questioning.

“Now now, Prudence,” Sir Anthony chided, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, “we mustn't leap to conclusions.  I’m sure Mr. Lawrence didn’t mean it like that.”

“Not at all,” Adam insisted.  Louis watched as Adam began rubbing the pad of one thumb over the nail of the other.  This was a habit he fell back on whenever he got nervous.  Louis almost stepped in again to save his friend when Adam continued, “I apologize if I offended you, Miss Prudence.  I tend to get a little rough with my teasing of D’Meir.  I do agree with him: Pippa would be quite won over by your home.”

“We understand that your sister is something of a composer,” Lady Fletcher replied, licking her lips free of crumbs from a biscuit she had just finished.  “My husband and I would love to see and hear some of her works.”

Sir Anthony nodded enthusiastically.  “We are lovers and supporters of the arts in its varied forms.”

“Like Belle’s father,” Prudence remarked, stirring her tea.  Pulling the tiny spoon out and setting it on the saucer, she gestured to a painting of the pond on the wall and said to Adam, “He did that painting last spring as well as others throughout the house.”

Adam looked up at the painting and his eyes widened slightly.  Shifting in his seat, he said, “That is...exquisite.  Where did he study?”

“In the streets of Paris,” Prudence explained with a smile.  “He served during the Wars as a young man and fell in love with the woman that nursed him back to health.  I’ve seen some of his sketches from that time, and they are beautiful and full of life.”

Louis smiled at Prudence and said, “You are quite the romantic, Miss Prudence.”

Her cheeks flushed once again and she said softly, “Do you find that a fault or a virtue, Mr. D’Meir?”

“I’m French, mademoiselle,” Louis replied.  “Romanticism is the height of virtue in our eyes.”

Cogsworth, who had dozed off during the conversation, let out a great snore and jolted himself awake.  Prudence covered her mouth with her hand and ducked her head so that she wouldn’t laugh, and Louis found himself doing the same.  Cogsworth straightened up in his chair and said quickly, “I do apologize, everyone.”

“Not at all, sir,” Sir Anthony said, trying not to laugh.  “I find myself in exactly the same situation when I come in here to read before dinner.  Perhaps we should have Arnold see if luncheon has been prepared, then afterward take a ride into the village.”

 

* * *

 

“Well...at least we finished all our work for the day.”

Stanley nudged Belle playfully with his good arm to clear away the look of annoyance on her face.  Just as they begun to travel home, Philippe threw a shoe and they were forced to head back to the village.  They led the horse to the farrier, and Belle told him to trim Philippe’s hooves and replace all of the shoes.  The pair then walked to a shop to purchase new spools of thread for Agathe.  Belle looked up from the two spools of blue thread she had been glaring at and smiled.  Putting back the one that appeared to be slightly darker, she handed the acceptable spool to Stanley, who tucked it into his sling.  Checking the list Agathe gave them that morning and crossing another color off it, Belle walked to the section filled with various shades of green and said, “Thank God for small mercies.  Besides...at least now we don’t have to tell Agathe we forgot to do her shopping.”

“She might have refused to feed us,” Stanley said, reaching up to examine different ribbons.  “Agathe can be as fearsome as my mum when she’s got her dander up.”

Stanley tugged a pale pink ribbon off the rack to examine it closer.  The color reminded him of the roses his mother grew back home during springtime.  Belle chuckled and teased lightly, “I’m not sure that’s your color, Stanley.”

“Blast, are you quite sure?” Stanley asked, grinning and holding the fabric against his cheek.  Shaking his head, he lowered his arm and studied it again.  “My youngest sister Charlotte is turning eight next week, and I want to get her a little present.  Her favorite color is pink.”

“Then I’m sure she’ll love it,” Belle said with approval, making her final selection.  They took their purchases to the counter, Stanley emptying his sling of the different spools.  After Belle paid for her items, Stanley set the ribbon down and asked the shopkeeper Douglas to wrap it in something special.  Belle went outside to wait for him and Stanley exchanged pleasantries with the man.  He was tall and thick, with a smooth head and a bushy red mustache.  As he wrapped up the ribbon, he asked Stanley, “When are you goin’ to make a decent lady out of that lass?”

Stanley shook his head.  “We’re just friends, sir.  She’s far too independent to be tied down.”

“Hogwash,” Douglas scoffed.  He tossed the parcel down on the counter and Stanley handed him a few coins in payment.  “What she needs is a good, strong man to settle her down and occupy that busy mind with raisin’ a few bairns.  You’d do well to snap her up before another man does.”

Stanley picked up his purchase and gave the shopkeeper a brittle smile.  “Thank you, sir.  I’ll think on it.”

“See that you do.”

Stanley clenched his jaw and left the shop.  Belle wasn’t outside the door, but when he looked around, he saw her standing in the square with the Fletchers and a trio of gentlemen.  The group was bundled in thick coats and gloves finer than Stanley had ever worn.  He shivered a bit of wind kicked up and tucked his hand into his own coat.  He could only assume that the gentlemen were from Devereux Park.  He approached them, and Prudence waved at him.  He smiled and came up alongside Belle, saying, “Hello, everyone.”

The man in the center of the trio stepped forward and offered Stanley his hand.  His cheeks were ruddy and his smile was wide as he said, “Good day to you!  I am Mr. Louis D’Meir.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. D’Meir,” Stanley replied, taking the man’s hand in a firm grip.  “I’m Stanley Dwiggins.”

“I wish Ms. Durant had told me she had a companion with her this morning,” Louis lamented after they finished shaking hands.  “In the future, I insist you come indoors.  Better than sitting outside in this cold!”

Stanley reassured Mr. D’Meir that he would and glanced at the man’s companion.  The large man to the left leaned heavily on a ornate walking stick and simply inclined his head toward Stanley, saying, “Mr. Henry Cogsworth, pleased to meet you.”

The dull look on the man’s face made Stanley doubt that claim, but he remained pleasant.  The man to the right of Mr. D’Meir intimidated Stanley slightly.  He had a similar look in his eyes to Mr. Cogsworth but to a more severe degree, as though he had surveyed his surroundings and found them wanting.  He copied his stout companion and introduced himself to Stanley as “Mr. Adam Lawrence” before walking to a jet black horse and stroking its mane with a gloved hand.   _I think I see what Belle was talking about,_ Stanley said, moving closer to Belle, who was speaking with Prudence and her parents.  She had gone off on a bit of tangent on their ride back to the village.  Stanley had listened to her calling the man pompous, arrogant, and something in French that sounded just as severe, something she did when she was particularly frustrated.  He had wondered -to himself, of course- if she hadn’t overreacted or blown the small exchange out of proportion, but just observing the man who stood apart from the rest of the group, he began to think that perhaps Belle’s frustrations had merit.

“Are you excited, Stanley?”

He jerked his attention away from Mr. Lawrence to Belle and Prudence’s expectant faces.  Feeling his cheeks heat up, he said, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.  What were you discussing?”

“The upcoming dance, of course!” Prudence exclaimed.  She had her arms looped around Belle’s arm and asked, “Are you excited?  I sometimes think I prefer dances in the hall to the organized affairs in London.  But of course dressing up is such great fun!”

Stanley found himself overwhelmed at times in the face of Prudence’s enthusiasm so he simply replied, “If you wish me to be excited, Miss Prudence, then I shall be excited.”

“I do wish so,” Prudence insisted, causing their cluster to laugh.  Unphased, she said firmly, “You must promise to save me a dance.”

Stanley nodded.  “Of course.”

At that moment, a young boy who was bundled up as much as one could be rushed toward their group and tugged on Belle’s skirt.  She smiled and knelt down to his level.  The boy mumbled in her ear before rushing off again.  She stood and said to the rest of the group, “I’m afraid Stanley and I must leave.  The farrier is finished with Philippe, and we still have work to attend to at the cottage.”

“You must all come to dinner tonight!” Prudence insisted, taking hold of Belle’s arm again.  “Between everyone at the cottage and Mr. D’Meir’s group, we shall have ourselves a little party!  Your papa can speak with Mr. Lawrence about the paintings he’s done for Rosemount.  I showed him the one in the parlour earlier today, and he was very impressed.”

Stanley watched as Belle’s eyes flitted away from Prudence, no doubt to glance at Mr. Lawrence.  He followed her gaze and saw that the man in question was watching the group.  Belle maintained her gaze for a moment before gently removing her arm from her friend’s grasp.  Shaking her head, Belle explained, “That’s such a lovely thought, but we still have a chicken that your mother had your cook prepare for us.  I’d hate to see that go to waste, even for such...wonderful company.”

Lady Fletcher stepped in before Prudence could protest, saying, “Belle’s quite right, my dear.  We wouldn’t want to overwhelm Mrs. Andrews with four unexpected guests.  Another time, perhaps.”

 

* * *

 

Agathe added two more logs to the fire and stoked the cinders with a rusty poker.  After a few minutes of working, the room began to resonate with the gentle crackling of the slowly growing fire.  Placing the poker back on its stand, she stood back up and headed toward the door.  She plucked her scarf and gloves off her hook and secured them into place before stepping outside.  Shivering against the chill, she took the little stone path that Belle and Stanley had laid down that previous autumn.  She followed the path between the garden and the cottage to the little greenhouse behind it.  Maurice had gotten the idea when he visited London for two weeks for business January of last year.  A lord who had commissioned him for a portrait had a far grander one on his estate and put Maurice in contact with his contractor.  Their greenhouse, while not as large or ornate, had still required a great deal of saving and construction.  Agathe and Belle had been especially encouraged, as the physical activity and planning of the project seemed to keep his mind active and clear of the memories that often haunted him.  He suffered from fewer gray spells, and everyone in the cottage helped with the project in some capacity or another.  

Agathe unlatched the little lock to the greenhouse door and entered the humid space.  She pulled a small knife from one of her apron pockets and began examining plants.  The large center table held herbs and vegetables not ready to be moved to the larger garden.  The tables on either side held flowers that Agathe used to brighten up the cottage.  She liked placing a fresh vase in Maurice’s studio each morning.  She had grown very fond of the older man since he and Belle had taken her into their home.  There was a sense of belonging and comfort at the cottage that she hadn’t felt after entering service as a young girl.  She hadn’t spoken a word of her feelings to anyone until Maurice’s sister Beatrice and her small family came to visit last Christmas.  His sister had seen right to the truth of the matter after only a few hours in Agathe’s company.  The pair began exchanging letters after the family left, and Agathe had felt a swell of relief at finally having a confidant.  She hadn’t felt comfortable discussing such a private matter with Belle, especially when it concerned her father, and the cruelty of some of the women from the village from when she was a beggar still stung.  Beatrice’s counsel and friendship seemed to arrive at the most opportune moment.

She busied herself with clipping stalks of rosemary, thyme, and parsley.  After they finished off the other roast chicken from Rosemount, Agathe planned on using the scraps to make a stock for a stew.  Once she was satisfied with her selections, she tucked the herbs into one of her apron pockets and exited the greenhouse.  A burst of laughter sounded from the barn where Stanley and Belle were hard at work, and Agathe’s heart swelled with affection.  She often thought that if she had ever given birth to a girl, she would have wanted her to be like Belle.  One of the reasons she kept her feelings about Maurice to herself was that she wasn’t sure how Belle would react.  Her mother Esmeralda had passed away during childbirth, but her presence was still felt all these years later.  Belle frequently asked Maurice for stories about their time together in Paris.  Agathe would listen to stories of this vibrant woman and wondered how she could ever hope to compete with even the memory of her.

Agathe entered the cottage and sighed in relief as the heat from the fire warmed her frozen skin.  As she took off her gloves and scarf, Belle’s snowy white cat Hera emerged from the hall with a trail of kittens behind her.  She had paired off with Zeus, the tawny barn cat that kept Stanley company, and the couple produced six kittens.  Belle and Stanley had been reading books of Greek mythology at the time, so all of the kittens received names like their parents.  The two white kittens that had taken after the mother were named Artemis and Apollo, as they rarely saw one without the other.  Three that had taken after the father, two girls and a boy, were named Hestia, Aphrodite, and Poseidon.  The final kitten was a mixture of his parents and constantly starting fights with his siblings, so Stanley chose the name Ares.  Agathe knelt down to pet the fluffy hoard and chuckled, “Sorry, little ones.  No milk from me.  You’ll have to fuss at Belle when she returns.”

Agathe stood and moved into the little kitchen area.  She watched as Hera ambled over to the fireplace and curled up in front of it, the kittens dispersing throughout the room.  She pulled the herbs from her apron and clipped each stalk on a rack that hung above the counter.  The clock on the wall told her she had another hour before she had to start preparing dinner, so she went to her little corner of the room where she kept all of her sewing supplies.  As she sat down in her chair, Hestia climbed her way up Agathe’s skirt and curled up in her lap.  Agathe had grown used to this little quirk as Hestia was the runt of the littler and not as prone to roughhousing as her siblings.  She worked around the kitten, opening the bundle Stanley had given her when he and Belle returned and surveying the damage.  Hestia woke up when Agathe laid part of the sash over her and pawed at the frayed ends.  Agathe bopped the top of the kitten’s head and tutted, “The garment has been through enough.  I don’t need you making it worse.”

The kitten leaped down and went to curl up next to her mother by the fire.  Agathe pulled her basket of supplies into her lap, and as she examined spools of thread to find an appropriate shade to repair the sash, Maurice emerged from his studio.  He had a smear of green paint on one cheek as well as on both of his hands.  Agathe smiled at him, her heart skipping, and teased, “As I understand it, the paint is meant to go on the canvas, not the artist.”

Maurice smiled at her and went into the kitchen area.  He plucked a rag off the counter and dipped it into a pail of water.  As he scrubbed his hands, he said, “That is usually the case, but sometimes art is messy.  Are Belle and Stanley still in the barn?”

Agathe told him that they were and selected a spool of thread.  She set the sash and thread on top of everything in her basket and set it down next to her chair.  Maurice had finished cleaning his hands but missed his cheek.  He tossed the rag aside and dried his hands on his shirt.  He then picked up the mail the postman had delivered earlier that day that had been set aside on the counter.  As he sorted through the letters, she stood and moved to stand at his side.  Picking up the discarded rag, she tapped his shoulder.  When he looked up, she gestured to his cheek and said with a chuckle, “You missed a spot.”

“Thank you, Agathe,” Maurice replied, allowing her to clean his scruffy cheek.  “I’m sure Belle and Stanley would have gotten a great laugh at my expense.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Agathe said as she scrubbed the last of the green paint away.  She took a step back after she finished, stating, “There, good as new.”

Maurice thanked her again before handing her a letter from Beatrice.  Maurice received a few commission requests from his partner Alexander in London, causing him to note that he would have to travel there soon.  They were confused that Belle received a letter from Mrs. Dwiggins and wondered what that might be about.  The woman rarely wrote letters, as Stanley traveled home frequently, but when she did, he was always the recipient.  Agathe tucked Beatrice’s letter into her apron to read after dinner, and Maurice went to fetch Belle and Stanley from the barn.  Later, everyone sat down for dinner and Belle brought up the dance the Fletchers were throwing for Mr. D’Meir.

“May I get ready at Rosemount that day?” Belle asked after swallowing a bite of chicken.

Maurice frowned.  “Might I ask why?”

“Prudence has a dress she said she would let me borrow,” Belle explained.  She smiled ruefully.  “We had an argument yesterday, and I told her I would let her dress me up so she would forgive me.”

“An argument? Is everything alright between you two?” Agathe asked, frowning.

“Of course,” Belle said immediately, “just a disagreement between friends.  May I go, Papa?”

Maurice made a great show of thinking about his answer, just to rile his daughter up, which worked like a charm.  She huffed, “I’m one and twenty years old.  It’s not as though I’m asking to go to London unaccompanied!  Stanley is only a year older than me, and he-”

“Calm down, my girl,” Maurice said, cutting her off.  “Of course you may go, as long as the Fletchers don’t mind.”

Belle’s cheeks flushed and she said bashfully, “Thank you, Papa.  I’m sorry I was so cross.  It’s been a long day.”

“You’ve been working so hard,” Agathe chided, reaching across the table to grasp the girl’s hand.  “Why don’t you sleep in tomorrow?  Stanley and I can manage things.”

Belle gave Agathe a weak smile and her hand a squeeze before pulling away and Stanley piped up, “We don’t have any deliveries to make or loads to pick up, not until Friday.  Agathe’s right; you’ve been working yourself too hard.”

Belle looked down at her plate, not saying anything, when Maurice suggested, “How about this, my dear?  You work tomorrow and go over the ledger with me, and then Friday, you spend the day with Prudence.”

Belle’s head shot up and her eyes were full of so much hope and excitement that it made Agathe want to cry.  Setting down her fork, Belle twirled a ring on her pinkie finger and asked hesitantly, “Are you sure, Papa?  Friday is one of our busiest days.  I wouldn’t want to you get overwhelmed.  That’s when I told Mr. D’Meir I’d pick up his first load.”

Maurice laughed and reached over to pinch her cheek, saying, “If I survived the worst that Napoleon could heap upon us during the Wars, I think I can manage a day of deliveries and pickups.  I shall ride over to Rosemount Park tomorrow and sort everything out with Sir Anthony.”

Belle’s face split into a grin.  She stood and leaned in to kiss her father’s cheek, saying, “Thank you, Papa.”

Agathe glanced at Stanley, who was watching the father and daughter with a fond look on his face.  She looked back at them as well, just as Belle sat back down.  Naturally she began going over the schedule for the next day and asking Stanley and Agathe what tasks could be doubled up to lighten the load for Friday.  Agathe felt that affection from earlier bubble up in her chest once again and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for being placed in this remarkable girl’s path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was chapter two! Chapter three will be back in Belle and Adam's POVs, but I wanted to take some time to introduce some of the other characters! Chapter three will be all about the big dance, so I foresee another long doozie of a chapter! I've never written so lengthy chapters before but I'm really enjoying it! Thank you so much for reading, and be sure to leave me comments and kudos! I get a total kick out of being interact with you guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, fasten your seatbelts because this chapter is going to be a bumpy ride! Sorry it took me so long again, but I promise you: it will be well worth the wait!

“Are you sure you have everything under control?”

Belle couldn’t help but admire Agathe’s infinite well of patience. This had been the sixth time Belle had posed this query since she had woken up that morning. While Agathe served Belle breakfast in bed, her father and Stanley had loaded up the cart with the deliveries to be made that day. After the men had left, Belle scrubbed herself down as best she could in the tiny tin tub with water Agathe had brought in from the stream and boiled. She selected her favorite dress, which was a patchwork of blue fabrics Agathe had collected and sewn for her. After she had finished getting dressed, she let Agathe sit her near the fire and brush her hair until it shone bright like spun gold. Belle adored having someone else styling and playing with her hair. She found it so relaxing and had been known to doze off during a conversation if her hair was in someone’s hands. Agathe kept Belle’s mind occupied with ideas of what to plant in the garden when spring came and new flowers to get for the greenhouse. By the time that Agathe finished styling Belle’s hair into a braided bun and secured it with a blue ribbon, a carriage had arrived to take Belle to Rosemount Park.

Agathe tugged Belle’s shawl around her a bit tighter and said, “For the last time, yes! Go have some fun with Prudence. We can manage one day without you, dear.”

Marks the coachman laughed and leapt down to open the carriage door. His bushy red mustache twitched as he said with a teasing smile, “Miss Prudence was very eager for your company, miss. Mustn't keep her waiting.”

Belle chuckled and said, “No, you’re right. Prudence can be rather insistent when she wants to be.”

Belle gave Agathe a parting hug before turning and letting Marks help her into the carriage. Marks shut the door and Belle waved at Agathe before the carriage jolted forward and away from the cottage. Dropping her hand into her lap, Belle leaned back into the cushioned seats and let out a little sigh. She loved her home and everything she and the others had worked so hard to build, but she still had those moments of envy rear up in her mind from time to time. She put up a fight when told to indulge herself, but when she did, she couldn’t help but revel in the finery of the Fletchers’ wealth. There was another part of that envy that Belle rarely examined because it felt dark and ugly when indulged in for too long. Over the past year or so, Belle had been struggling with the realization that she would probably live out her life as a spinster. She overheard the gossip that women whispered behind her back, that Belle put on airs and believed herself to be a cut above the rest. And try as she might to deny it, Belle knew it in her heart to be true. She couldn’t bear the thought of being the wife of some tradesman, of spending her days keeping house and paying calls with no real work to keep her mind occupied. She envied Prudence’s ability to choose. Prudence had traveled to London for the season ever since her own coming out nine years ago and always came home with endless stories of flirting and scandalous kisses in darkened corners. Even though she remained unmarried at five and twenty, it seemed as though Prudence was above any judgement such a fact would bring. Her parents would never dream of letting their darling daughter settle into an unhappy marriage. On the other side of that coin, Belle felt trapped by circumstances beyond her control and the restrictions those circumstances put on her. At times, she felt so furious that she wanted to scream and cry and rage at the unfairness of it all.

Thankfully, she was saved from her melancholy thoughts by her arrival at Rosemount Park. The gravel of the drive crunched beneath the wheels of the carriage. Belle smiled when she saw Prudence waiting on the front steps as the carriage came to a stop. She heard Marks climb down from his seat and open the door. He held out his hand and said, “You have arrived at Rosemount Park, miss.”

Belle took the coachman’s hand. “Thank you, Marks.”

Prudence met her friend as she climbed out of the carriage and the pair embraced. As Marks led the carriage to the stables, Prudence looped her arms through one of Belle’s and said, “I’m so excited about tonight! Aren’t you?”

“I am actually,” Belle replied, thanking Mr. Arnold the butler who waited at the door. As she handed her shawl to him, she asked, “Where are your parents, Prudence?”

“Paying calls in the village,” Prudence explained. “I can’t remember who exactly, but they should be back soon...with company. Arnold, will you have one of the maids bring up some tea? Miss Belle and I will be in the library.”

Mr. Arnold nodded and the women headed in that direction. As they walked, Belle asked, “Does this company happen to be a certain gentleman new to the neighborhood and his friends?”

Prudence shrugged and said, “Perhaps.”

Belle glared at her friend, who said firmly, “They’re a lovely group of gentlemen. I thought a luncheon would be a perfect opportunity for you to get to know them better.”

“You mean get to know Mr. Lawrence better,” Belle stated and pushed through the library doors. Her father had returned the books she had borrowed on her last visit, and she had a small list of requests. Agathe had requested a book or two on horticulture, and Stanley wanted more poetry. Belle had never been overly fond of poetry and asked her father for suggestions. After a bit of thought, he recommended she find some of Lord Byron’s work.

As she searched, Prudence, who was just as stubborn as Belle, followed her and insisted, “You can’t possibly have the full measure of a person based on a short exchange. When Mr. D’Meir initially told me what Mr. Lawrence had said, I was very cross with him on your behalf.”

Belle paused in her search and looked at her friend. Prudence nodded and continued, “But, after spending an entire afternoon and evening with him, I found him to be quite charming, if a little reserved. Just… give him a chance?”

A throat being cleared pulled the pair out of their private moment, and they looked to see one of the household maids, Joyce, carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits by the door. They sat in front of the fireplace, the awkward silence lingering. After Joyce poured them tea and Prudence dismissed her, each woman picked up her cup. Belle took a sip and said after a moment, “I’ll give him a chance, for all the good it will do.”

Prudence frowned. “What do you mean?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Surely you aren’t that naive, Pru. I’m the daughter of nobody of consequence. People like him don’t marry people like me.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Prudence replied, raising her cup for another sip. Setting it back on its saucer, she reached for a biscuit and continued, “Besides, Mr. Lawrence’s family is very wealthy, so it’s not as though he would need to build on it.”

“That doesn’t mean his family won’t encourage him to do so,” Belle reasoned.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” Prudence countered.

Belle chuckled and lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. She set down her cup and saucer, saying, “I should know better than to argue with you.”

Prudence had a look of triumph on her face for a moment before it turned thoughtful. She set aside her own tea cup and saucer and took her friend’s hand. Squeezing it, she said softly, “I know that the odds aren’t exactly in your favor, and I’m not saying this man could be the one for you. But you have to start somewhere if you ever want to move beyond the confines of this village.”

“I know,” Belle replied, suddenly feeling very emotional. Her vision grew blurry and she rasped past the lump in her throat, gesturing to the shelves, “These stories and my designs are things I understand, but that world of flirting and courtship...I feel so out of place.”

“Just be yourself,” Prudence explained simply. When Belle scoffed as she dried her eyes, her friend asserted, “I know it sounds trite, but you’re brilliant just as you are! Why tie yourself into knots trying to be someone else?”

“I thought that was the appropriate behavior for a lady,” Belle replied.

Prudence smirked. “And when have you ever called yourself a lady?”

This caused both women to burst into laughter, which was how the Fletchers and their company found them. Sir Anthony was the first to speak, asking, “Why am I not surprised to find you two in here?”

The two women stood and curtseyed to the group. As they entered the library, the maid, Joyce, came in behind them and asked Lady Fletcher, “Shall I bring in some fresh tea, milady?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Lady Fletcher replied and Joyce hurried to collect the tray and exited the library.

Sir Anthony and Lady Fletcher led a burly gentleman whose name Belle couldn’t readily recall to another corner of the library. Belle couldn’t repress her smile as Mr. D’Meir was the first to move toward them, saying, “Ms. Durant, what a pleasure it is to see you again!”

“Likewise, Mr. D’Meir,” Belle replied. “Did you get a chance to speak with my father this morning?”

“Not for as long as I would have liked,” D’Meir lamented, Mr. Lawrence coming up alongside him. “He did promise that we could talk more at tonight’s gathering.”

“I hope you will set aside time from your talk with Mr. Durant to dance with me, Mr. D’Meir,” Prudence said. “Would you like to take a turn about the room? We can discuss tonight’s festivities.”

“Certainly,” D’Meir replied, offering her his arm. The pair walked away, leaving Belle and Mr. Lawrence in an awkward silence.

Belle fiddled with the ring around her right pinkie finger, feeling foolish to suddenly be at a loss for words. Thankfully Mr. Lawrence saved them from the silence by saying, “I believe I owe you an apology, Ms. Durant.”

Belle was taken aback. She clasped her hands together in front of her to keep from fidgeting further and replied, “Oh?”

Mr. Lawrence gestured behind her, presumably to Prudence and D’Meir, and said, “They gave me something of a verbal thrashing the other day about our first meeting. I apologize if I offended you with my questions. That was not my intent.”

Belle let out a soft huff of a laugh and said begrudgingly, “I suppose I should apologize as well. I shouldn’t have snapped at you as I did. Your questions struck a nerve you couldn’t have known was tender.”

Feeling awkward that they were still standing, Belle gestured for him to sit down. As he did, he admitted, “My younger sister would think what you’re doing is brilliant. She composes music and plays the piano forte as well as other instruments, but I’m afraid if she tried to monetize her compositions, my grandmother would die of shock.”

“Has she shared them with anyone?” Belle asked, intrigued. “Apart from you, of course.”

Mr. Lawrence nodded. “At parties and whatnot. All someone need do is ask her, and she’s off like a shot to the nearest piano. She’s become very accomplished when it comes to her music.”

“It’s a pity she didn’t come with you,” Belle noted, gesturing across the room to the Fletchers. “I assume you know of their love of music?”

“Quite,” Mr. Lawrence replied, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Lady Fletcher graced us with a song after dinner. Her voice is remarkable. Philippa would have been overjoyed.”

“May I ask where she is?” Belle asked, leaning back into the overstuffed chair.

Mr. Lawrence mimicked her movements. “With our grandmother in London. She gets lonesome for company from time to time, and with our lady mother traveling abroad, it fell to my sister to travel there.”

Soon, it was Belle and Mr. Lawrence taking a turn about the room, with Prudence and Mr. D’Meir taking the seats by the fireplace. Belle found herself surprised with how pleasant Mr. Lawrence was. Once he found out her passion for books, he began quizzing on her what she had read. As he spoke, Belle compared his behavior in that moment to his behavior in their encounters from the other day. She suspected his temperament was similar to that of her father but with different coping mechanisms. When presented with unfamiliar settings or people, her father would retreat into himself but provide short, polite answers when prompted. Mr. Lawrence, it would seem, fell behind an aloof and imperious shield rather than appear uncertain. Their conversation escalated when they began discussing Shakespeare. Stanley had enjoyed Much Ado, so Belle wanted to get a couple more of plays for him. During their downtime, they would read scenes aloud and discuss them afterward. As she pulled Romeo and Juliet off the shelf to consider it, Mr. Lawrence scoffed, “Don’t tell me Romeo and Juliet is your favorite.”

Belle almost snorted a laugh but something in his tone stopped her. She followed her arms across her chest, the book tucked in between, and asked, “And if it is? What of it, sir?”

“All that heartache and pining,” Mr. Lawrence replied, his shoulders shuddering slightly. He motioned to the books on the shelves, saying, “You have Shakespeare’s entire canon available to you, and yet that is the story that stands out amongst the rest? If romance is your interest, he’s written others that are far superior.”

“You act as though the romance is the only thing to be taken away from the story,” Belle parried, getting annoyed. While she shared his opinion about the play, his assumptions about her had forced her to defend the very thing she hated.

Mr. Lawrence tucked his hands behind his back, asking, “Isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Belle insisted. Unfollowing her arms, she grasped the book in one hand and shook it, pointing out, “Their fates could have been prevented had their families put aside ancient grudges when they saw that their children were falling in love! I think there’s a lesson to be learned about forgiveness and the setting aside of one’s differences for the greater good. Burying the hatchet, as the Americans would say.”

“That is assuming, of course, that Romeo’s love was true,” Mr. Adam countered. “In the first two scenes of the play, he is bemoaning the loss of Rosaline.”

“And,” Belle argued, “had their parents allowed them to court each other in the usual manner, their infatuation might have faded away when not fueled by the intoxication of forbidden love. But as it stands, Romeo, once he met Juliet, remained devoted to her until his end.”

By that time, they were joined by Prudence and D’Meir, the former asking nervously, “Is everything alright over here? Don’t tell you’re cross with each other again.”

Belle was the first to answer, reassuring Prudence, “No, just a lively debate about Romeo and Juliet. You know how I can get when talking about Shakespeare.”

“I do,” Prudence said, sounding still unconvinced. She looked between the two of them and asked, “Was there a winner?”

Belle followed her arms back across her chest, arching an eyebrow at Mr. Lawrence. The gentleman, to his credit, gave her a slight nod before answering, “Ms. Durant was the victor. While I may not agree with her choice of play, her arguments were very compelling. Were she a man, I’d say she has a promising future as a solicitor or a professor.”

“High praise indeed!” D’Meir exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. Turning to Belle, he said, “Not to speak ill of my friend here, but there are times when he can be a little ungracious in defeat. You must have acquitted yourself well.”

“I’m sure Mr. Lawrence is just trying to flatter me,” Belle reasoned, her pulse racing slightly as she spoke, “so as not to lose a chance at dancing with me tonight.”

Belle felt bold in victory and decided to lead by Prudence’s example. Her flirting effort did not prove to be a disappointment when Mr. Lawrence placed a hand over his heart and recited, “Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in her sight.”

Feeling her cheeks flush, Belle gripped the copy of Romeo and Juliet tight against her chest and replied, hoping she didn’t fumble the line, “These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume.”

Her pulse pounding in her ear, she turned to Prudence and the two of them walked away, Belle clutching her friend’s arm and feeling her heart racing beneath her breast in excitement.

 

* * *

 

 

Adam was in hell. After spending the majority of the afternoon with the Fletchers, D’Meir declared that they should return to Devereux Place to dress for the gathering that evening. Adam had been surprised with how much he enjoyed himself throughout the afternoon in regards to the family acquaintance, Ms. Durant. He found her to be well spoken, passionate, and -if he was being completely honest with himself- quite beautiful. He was certain that his grandmother would disapprove of him even entertaining such thoughts, but she wasn’t the only person to whom he was beholden. A few months after his father had passed away and he inherited Villeneuve, his mother took him aside and delivered some hard truths about her marriage. He had long known that his parents’ marriage was not a happy one but never pushed the subject further, as it was not his business. The fierceness that overtook her when she swore that she would not see him or his sister settled in unhappy marriages left him speechless. His grandmother and the Cogsworths had been disappointed when he didn’t propose to Abigail last spring, but his mother had supported him when he told her that Abigail would not have him and that they were better suited as friends. He knew it was far too early to think of marriage with Ms. Durant, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sensory overload he experienced when entering the dance hall that evening. A dance had just ended as they entered, and everyone was applauding the players. While his rational mind knew it to be impossible, his irrational mind felt as though the entirety of the village had been crammed into the small space. The noise faded away as Louis walked across the hall, Cogsworth and himself trailing behind, to where Sir Anthony and his wife sat with some of the older gentlemen and ladies. After they exchanged formalities with their hosts, the festivities picked up again. Louis immediately dove into the fray, joining Ms. Fletcher and Ms. Durant on the dance floor. The latter wore a dark blue dress, and her cheeks were flushed slightly, either from dancing or excitement. No matter the cause, Adam admired how lovely she looked amongst the crowd. He trailed after Louis and came up behind him as he was saying, “You must introduce me to your father after a dance or two! I’m eager to possibly engage his artistic services. Where is he? I didn’t see him when I arrived.”

Adam inclined his head toward the ladies as he entered their group, and both returned the gesture with a curtsey. Ms. Durant gave him a small smile before saying to Louis, “I believe he’s sitting somewhere near the Fletchers. Large and rowdy gatherings like this put him on edge.”

“Your father has my sympathy and understanding, Ms. Durant,” Adam commented, keeping his hands clenched tight behind his back.

Ms. Durant’s eyes crinkled at the corners and she teased, “I hope you are not so on edge as to forget your promise to dance with me, sir.”

“Not at all,” Adam vowed, enjoying her company. “I take the words of Shakespeare seriously, even when they’re from one of his lesser plays.”

This made her laugh, which pleased him, but before she could respond, the players struck up another song and people began taking their places for the dance. Again Adam found himself surprised with how much he enjoyed the dance. He usually preferred the slower paced dances, but Ms. Durant had a way of distracting him from his discomfort. After the dance ended, she introduced him to Stanley Dwiggins and Agathe Pierce, two people that worked with her and lived at her home with her father. The Dwiggins chap had an arm in one sling, which Adam was informed was the result of a childhood accident. Ms. Pierce had a gentle voice and asked him, “Do you and your companions know how long you will be staying here, Mr. Lawrence?”

“I do not,” Adam replied, glancing across the room where Louis stood with Ms. Prudence and a few others. He was gesturing wildly, no doubt in the middle of one of his stories. “I am entirely at the mercy of Mr. D’Meir.”

“After spending the afternoon with them,” Ms. Durant said, “I think I can safely say Mr. D’Meir is quite taken with Prudence.”

“I would say he’s mad if he wasn’t,” Mr. Dwiggins piped up. A chap with fiery red hair came up behind Mr. Dwiggins, and he excused himself to follow his companion.

As he left, a scruffy gentleman in a beige jacket took his place, whom Ms. Durant kissed on the cheek. She introduced him as her father, and he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lawrence. I believe we saw each other briefly when I spoke with Mr. D’Meir this morning.”

“Yes,” Adam confirmed, “I’m impressed with how quickly you were able to handle my friend. He can be quite the force of nature, even with perfect strangers.”

“Papa has had plenty of practice,” Ms. Durant explained, looking at her father with affection. “He travels to London every once in a while for commissions.”

“Say no more,” Adam said. “London is where I met Mr. D’Meir, and I used to frequent the city when I was younger. Nowadays, I prefer the slower place of my estate in Salisbury.”

The father and daughter exchanged strange looks, which made him nervous. He said quickly, “That isn’t to say the area here doesn’t have merit-”

“Oh no, it isn’t that,” Ms. Durant replied, that look still lingering. “It’s just that...your estate is named Villeneuve, correct?”

Adam felt his eyes widen in surprise. Cocking his head to one side, he replied, “Yes, it is. Did the Fletchers tell you?”

Ms. Durant shook her head, and the strange looks from before changed into ones of amusement. But before he had a chance to explain, Mr. Durant said, “My sister told me.”

“Your sister?” Adam repeated, frowning. “And who is your sister in relation to my estate?”

“Its head housekeeper,” Mr. Durant replied, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

Adam felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop slightly. Ms. Durant laughed softly at his reaction, covering her mouth, and he said, flabbergasted, “Mrs. Potts is an invaluable part of the household! We knew that she had family that she would visit, but she never said where.”

“What a happy coincidence,” Ms. Pierce noted with a smile to Mr. Durant, who heartily agreed. Adam shared some of his memories of Mrs. Potts from his childhood, and the older man shared some of his own. As Mr. Durant spoke, an old memory resurfaced suddenly and Adam interrupted the story, looking at Ms. Durant and saying, “I’m terribly sorry, but I just remembered a summer when Mrs. Potts had a girl staying with her for a few weeks. Was...was that you?”

Ms. Durant frowned and was silent for a moment before her face split into a smile and she exclaimed, “Oh yes, it was! I must have been about eight at the time. Goodness, I haven’t thought of that visit in ages!”

“Pray tell, what happened on this visit?” Ms. Pierce asked with a look of amusement on her face. “It sounds like an entertaining tale.”

“I should say so,” Adam replied, the memories coming back in a flood. Crossing his arms over his chest, he explained to Ms. Pierce while keeping on eye on Ms. Durant, “I was sixteen and filled with all the self-importance one possesses at that age, but I was tormented by my younger sister Philippa and her new playmate.”

Ms. Durant’s cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink and she asked with a giggle, “Didn’t we put ink in your tea once?”

“Yes, you did,” Adam admitted begrudgingly. “I thought my teeth would never be rid of the color.”

At that moment, Mr. Dwiggins returned to the group, asking if Ms. Durant would dance with one of the younger lads. She accepted and the remaining three moved to one side of the room to clear the floor. Adam told Mr. Durant recent news of Mrs. Potts fighting off a nasty cold while still trying to manage the household, which came as a surprise to the older man. “ _It’s just like Beatrice,_ ” Mr. Durant said with a shake of his head, “ _to keep unpleasant news to herself so as not to worry me. As if it’s not an older brother’s job to worry!_ ” Adam laughed and said that he finally had to put his foot down and insist she rest when her illness was brought to his attention by his sister’s maid. During this discussion, they were joined by Louis, who began asking Mr. Durant about his art commissions in London. Art not being a subject Adam was passionate about, he let his attention wander to the dance floor. Ms. Durant’s cheeks were flushed and she had an ever-present smile on her lips as she moved in time with the steps. Thinking back to their conversation moments ago, he remembered Philippa playing with that young girl, her hair a mane of wild curls barely secured by a blue ribbon and eyes that were always twinkling with mischief. He made a mental note to mention this reunion to his sister in his next letter to Town; Philippa was always delighted by such occurrences.

“Lawrence?”

Adam looked away from the dancing to find Louis and Mr. Durant looking at him expectantly. Feeling a rush of embarrassment, he cleared his throat and said, “I apologize. I was distracted by...all of the activity. It’s quite overwhelming.”

“Indeed,” Louis agreed, a knowing look in his eyes. Mr. Durant excused himself to rejoin the Fletchers, and the friends stood in silence for a moment. As Ms. Durant and Ms. Fletcher bounced past them, in the midst of another dance, Louis commented, “She’s a lovely girl. You two would make a fine match.”

“I assume you speak in a spirit of mockery,” Adam grumbled, giving his friend a dark look. “You know as well as I that my family would never approve of such a match.”

“I know of no such thing,” Louis argued, undaunted as ever. “Your grandmother may disapprove, but your mother would fight for you, should you two choose to marry.”

“Oh please, Louis,” Adam dismissed, the direction of the conversation causing his chest to tighten slightly. “I’ve only just met her, and unlike you, my friend, I don’t fancy myself in love with a person after a single afternoon and evening together.”

Louis shrugged and teased with a smirk, “Fine, fine. I suppose Ms. Prudence and I just imagined that spark between you two in the library.”

Adam sighed. His friend, ever the romantic, was never one to be deterred where matters of the heart were concerned. Clenching his hands behind his back, he cleared his throat and admitted, “There...was a spark. I like her very much and would like to get to know her better. There? Are you satisfied?”

“Oui,” Louis replied, applauding as the dance ended. Adam huffed a laugh, which caused Louis to grin and say, “One day, mon ami, you will show yourself to be just as much a romantic as me! All the passion your mother possesses can’t have all gone to Pippa.”

Adam found himself pleasantly surprised with how much he enjoyed himself later into the evening, even with the crowds taking their toll. He danced with Ms. Durant once again and took a slow turn with Ms. Pierce on Ms. Durant’s request. Apparently the older woman enjoyed dancing but couldn’t keep up with the faster-paced dances. Adam wanted to get Ms. Durant alone and ask when might be an appropriate time that he could call on her. He knew he had to consider her work in the village, which was a strange sensation but not unwelcome. He enjoyed visiting with the Fletchers, but knowing his temperament, he knew he would need a break from Louis’s wooing of Ms. Prudence soon, otherwise he might go mad. Cogsworth pulled him into a conversation with a couple of local men, a large bald man by the name of Douglas McAvery and the village solicitor, Mr. James Morton. Upon hearing that last name, Adam’s gut twisted and he had to keep his face schooled in a neutral expression. Mr. Morton studied Adam for a moment before saying, “I believe you know my nephew, Gaston.”

Adam clenched his jaw for a moment before replying, “Yes, sir. I’m afraid we lost touch. My responsibilities at my estate don’t afford me much free time in London.”

“Pity,” Mr. Morton said, “my nephew could do with a friend like you. The way he told it, you two had a falling out.”

“Differing points of view, I suppose.”

Cogsworth pulled Mr. Morton’s attention away from Adam into a debate between himself and Mr. McAvery. Adam considered joining Louis across the room when he spotted Ms. Durant talking to an older woman, and by the look on her face, it didn’t appear to be a pleasant conversation. The woman turned away from Ms. Durant, only to make her away toward Adam’s group. She gave him a simpering smile as she approached and, stopping before him, gave him a small curtsy. When he nodded his head in return, she exclaimed, “You must be Mr. Lawrence! I am Mrs. Morton, it’s such a _pleasure_ to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Adam replied, the evening finally wearing on him. The men stopped their conversation as Mr. Morton introduced his wife to Cogsworth, who continued to prattle on, “You all _must_ come have dinner at our home during your visit. While ours isn’t as grand as Devereux or Rosemount, I assure you the quality will be just as fine!”

“I’m sure it will, madam,” Cogsworth replied before returning to his conversation.

Dread filled Adam as she fixed her gaze back on him and said in what he assumed she thought was a sympathetic tone, “I hope that Durant girl hasn’t been too much of a bother for you, Mr. Lawrence. I honestly don’t know how the Fletchers deal with her.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Adam said, confused.

Mrs. Morton let out a tittering laugh, pressing a hand at the base of her throat. “Oh sir, you are so _very_ dear! I thought I would never meet you this evening, with Ms. Durant monopolizing all of your time. She has a tendency to attach herself to the most important person in the room.”

“Dear,” Mr. Morton cut in, coming up alongside his wife, “you mustn’t bore Mr. Lawrence here with your silly rivalry with that girl.”

“Right you are, Mr. Morton,” the woman replied. Adam felt himself getting even more confused, which prompted Mrs. Morton to say, “I’m sure the girl has some amiable qualities. She’s certainly a diligent worker. You must ignore me; I’m just put out on behalf of my dear son, Thomas.”

She gestured to a smiling young man with sandy blonde hair that stood near the entrance. A young woman with a head full of tightly ringed black curls and an olive green dress clung to his arm. Mrs. Morton sighed and said, “There was a time when I was quite fond of Ms. Durant. My Thomas had become infatuated with her a few years ago, and as she had grown up without a mother, I was happy to do my part and _welcome_ her into my maternal embrace.”

Her jaw tightened and her voice cut off, Mrs. Morton looking down at the ground. Mr. Morton, who remained unaffected by his wife’s story, finished in a dull tone of voice, “Thomas proposed to the girl, and to the shock of everyone involved, Ms. Durant said no.”

“Broke my poor son’s heart, she did,” Mrs. Morton choked out, reaching up to wipe away tears that were strangely absent.

Adam glanced at the young man and said, “Well, he appears to have moved on to greener pastures.”

Mrs. Morton scoffed. “Looks can be deceiving, sir. I apologize for contradicting you, but it’s the truth. My daughter-in-law is a pleasant enough girl and will certainly give my son many children, but she’s not _at all_ what I wanted for my dear Thomas. I would be careful with your affections lest that _wretched creature_ use you as she did my son.”

Mr. Morton wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and leaned down to kiss the top of her head before letting her go and rejoining Cogsworth and the other man. Adam didn’t know what to make of the woman’s accusations. Gaston hadn’t spoken of his extended family when they were carousing about London, so he was unsure how sincere this woman was. But he knew better than to judge people based on their relatives otherwise people might not have given Philippa the time of day based on his past behavior. He didn’t know Ms. Durant very well and had been around enough social climbers in the London society scene. Perhaps were things so different in the country? He shifted his stance a bit and Mrs. Morton said anxiously, “Oh dear, I’ve made things awkward, haven’t I? I’m terribly sorry.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Adam replied, forcing a small smile to put her at ease. Motioning to her husband, he said, “Your husband said you were related to an old friend of mine, Gaston, but I’m not sure how. I’m afraid he never mentioned you.”

Her face brightened up and she said, “It doesn’t surprise me. Stuffy old relatives in the country are hardly topics for lively conversation amongst friends! Gaston is the eldest son of my husband’s brother. He’s such a sweet boy. When he visits, he _dotes_ upon me.”

Fuzzy memories of drunken nights of debauchery floated through his mind as he said with all the sincerity he could muster, “It’s a pity we lost touch. When my father passed away, I had to give up my life in London to look after my mother and sister.”

“Perhaps fate will bring you together once again,” Mrs. Morton said with a little smile. Worrying her hands together, she said, “I must confess something: I knew who you were before my husband introduced us. Gaston had mentioned you in his letters here from time to time and always had such nice things to say about you.”

“How kind of him,” Adam said, feeling bitterness rise like bile in his throat.

“That’s why I had to warn you off Belle Durant,” Mrs. Morton insisted. “Were it not for the Fletchers, I don’t know how she and her father would survive here.”

Adam glanced in Ms. Durant’s direction. “What do you mean?”

“She may seem sweet, but she is very moody and argumentative,” Mrs. Morton confided, taking a step toward him. “Express concern or discomfort at her family’s lifestyle, and she gets so _defensive_ ; it’s impossible to have a civil conversation with her. Believe me, I tried.”

This statement gave Adam pause to consider what this woman was saying. Even though they had resolved that unpleasant first encounter, her defensiveness had seemed a tad extreme. Swallowing nervously, he asked, “What did you do?”

Mrs. Morton looked off to the side for a moment before sighing and saying, “When she first rejected Thomas, I thought that perhaps it was just because she was confused. Being raised in the peculiar way her father did would warp any impressionable girl’s way of thinking. I tried to reason with her that she might not receive another offer, but she dismissed me. She told me she had made her decision and that she wanted more than a _provincial_ life.”

Mrs. Morton paused to clear her eyes, giving him a sad smile, and Adam felt a great swell of pity for her. She finished with, “I was shocked and more than a little heartbroken. She and Thomas had been so close, and I had welcomed her into our home. I can’t imagine what ideas her father must have put in her head to make her so ungrateful and fickle.”

After this speech, Adam was shaken and confused. The story he had just heard was conflicting with the image of the young woman with whom he had been conversing all day. Perhaps she had matured since then, grown out of such snobbery. But Mrs. Morton’s next words troubled him even further. Tsking, she said, “Why, just now I heard her mocking some poor girl for her musical abilities. I couldn’t imagine being eaten up with _bitterness_ that I had to put others down to make myself feel better.”

Adam looked over to Ms. Durant and back to Mrs. Morton. Feeling overwhelming and a pulsing pain behind his eyes, he said, “If you’ll excuse me...I think I need some fresh air.”

Adam made his way through the crowd and couldn’t help but pass by Ms. Durant. She was speaking with Ms. Pierce and a young girl in a pale pink dress. As he passed by, he heard Ms. Durant, “...said she can play, but what simpleton with access to a piano forte doesn't make that claim? Upon my word, there is nothing so tedious as a so-called accomplished woman."

The younger girl laughed, and Ms. Pierce chided her, albeit with a small smile on her face. Adam felt anger pulse throughout his body. Pippa...she had to be referring to his sister. Earlier that day, she had asked him more about his sister and had been so encouraging in her praise. Had it all been an act? Something to store away and snicker at later with her friends? Adam could tolerate many things, but people speaking ill of his sister was not one of them. He turned sharply and bumped into a man. As he apologized, he heard Ms. Durant say cheerly, “Mr. Lawrence, there you are! I saw Mrs. Morton corner you earlier. I hope you escaped unscathed.”

Gritting his teeth, he whipped around to face her and when she saw his face, her smile died immediately. But before she could say another thing, he snapped, “My conversation was most illuminating, Ms. Durant. All I have to say for you is I hope that the Fletchers come to see you for the bitter little schemer and user that you are! Based on what I overheard just now, I shudder to think what wicked and vile things you must say about Ms. Prudence behind her back.”

Ms. Durant looked stunned. People were staring at them now, and Adam felt his hands begin to shake. He tried to compose himself as he made his way to the entrance of the dance hall. The chill of the night air did wonders to cool his burning cheeks. He instructed a boy to send for his carriage and leaned against a wall. As he waited, he heard footsteps behind him and turned his head to see Ms. Durant rushing outside. Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears as she glared at him and choked out, “How dare you speak to me in that way! I don’t know what Mrs. Morton said to you, but-”

“I haven’t the time or the patience to listen to your excuses,” Adam snapped. “You should go back inside. It’s chilly out tonight.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” she dismissed. “I don’t understand. What did Mrs. Morton say to you?”

Adam shook his head and pushed himself off the wall. “That doesn’t matter! Your little speech about so-called accomplished women was quite enough to change my opinion of you.”

Her face fell and she said quickly, “Mr. Lawrence, if you’re thinking that was about your sister-”

“I told you I wasn’t interested in your excuses,” Adam growled as his carriage approached. It came to a stop and before the coachman could leap down, Adam yanked open the door and climbed inside. As he settled into his seat and shut the door, he saw Ms. Pierce come up behind Ms. Durant and wrap her arms around the younger woman’s shoulders. Adam looked away and pounded on the ceiling of the carriage, prompting the coachman to drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides in my safe house* I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I love comments and kudos like Belle hates Romeo and Juliet (but don't let Adam hear us say that)! Thank you to everyone who has given my story love so far. You guys are the greatest!


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